Our Way
by KoteDiM
Summary: As the sole victor of the 74th annual Hunger Games, Katniss returns to her life in District 12, feeling more lost and alone than ever before. Suffering from PTSD, she finds her comfort somewhere unexpected and tries to find out how to deal with her reality.


**Pairing:** Katniss x Haymitch

**Rating/warnings:** Rated M for detailed descriptions of violence and death as well as sexual content.

**Author's note:** _I decided to write this story with what is probably my OTP - Haymitch and Katniss. It's my first fic for the Hunger Games universe, and I hope you guys will like it. I'm not sure if this will be a one-shot or a story that I'm gonna continue, but I've got a storyline prepared just in case. All missing explanations related to the alternate background story in this fic will be in chapter two if continued :) Let me know what you all think, please - that would make me really happy._

_Also, I love Peeta - his death was just for plot purposes. Sorry, Peeta! T^T_

_- Kote_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Time stands still as I see the flash of Cato's weapon move across the throat in front of him, the final bit of hesitation fading from his eyes as he makes his move. The blade barely makes it across the short expanse of skin before I let my arrow find its mark. I let go of my bow to throw myself towards Peeta's limp body as it falls towards the hard metal underneath us.

When I get a hold of him, I fall to my knees and cradle him protectively. I feel the warm, red liquid spill all over my arms as I let him rest in my lap while desperately trying to clamp my hands over the open wound in his throat. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know that he's bleeding out - fast. I frantically whip my head around to look for anything - anyone - to help me. There is nothing though. No one is coming. All I see is the blood running down the cornucopia in a small, seemingly endless stream from where Cato's body lies with my arrow piercing his left eye. When a small gurgling gasp comes from the boy in my arms, my head snaps back and my eyes meet his.

"K-Khhn..."

I know that he is trying to say my name, but the air is failing him and not reaching his mouth before being drowned in blood. I desperately shush him as I feel the tears drip from my cheeks unto his face. I try to wipe them away only to smear his beautiful face in the blood that seconds before coated my fingers. I move them back to stop the flow of blood from his throat and sob as I bend down to press my lips clumsily against his.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, Peeta!" I cry.

I hear my name being called but I do not want to leave him. He is the boy with the bread. The boy who saved my life. And he is dying. I continuously shout "no" through the sobs that threaten to wreck me completely.

Seconds later, I am forcefully being pulled upright into a seated position, away from the pools of blood and my final moments with Peeta. My hands reach out and grasp at the throat of the person in front of me, sitting on my bed in my lonely house in the Victors Village, invading the privacy of my bedroom.

My eyebrows are clenched tightly together in a fit of rage, despair and pure instinct and my cheeks are covered in tears, leaving my eyesight just as blurry as it had turned towards the end of what I now realise was a nightmare.

With a firm grip, Haymitch wrenches my fingers from their position around his throat and pushes them forcefully down while he coughs and gasps for air.

"For fucks sake, Sweetheart," he rasps "I've been in enough life and death situations for a lifetime - could you maybe not put me in another one?"

I free my wrists from his rough grip and glare at him in the darkness of the room. I do not bother wiping away my tears or giving him a snide reply. Neither of us are exactly the friendly kind, and I do not need to explain myself to him.

As his breathing returns to normal, I turn my eyes towards the covers on my bed and simply say "Peeta". The name seems to echo in the silence, making it seem loud and intrusive, and I feel myself cringe just the tiniest bit.

Haymitch keeps his eyes low and continues to rub a hand across his sore throat as he replies "Figured it was. You kept screaming."

"Sorry," I say, sounding more sincere than I feel. I know I do not have to apologise, but I do it anyway.

"Doesn't matter. Wasn't sleeping anyway"

I smile ruefully at the pattern I am drawing on my sheets. I know he was not. I can smell it on his breath. I move up to rest on my knees and lean towards him to bury my face in his neck. I inhale the scent of man, white liquor, firewood and that extra something that makes the smell uniquely Haymitch. He does not smell completely clean, but he knows that I do not care. I never do. In return, I know that he does not care that it is the same with me.

I nibble on his earlobe with my teeth and pull it between my lips to suck on it until I moments later hear him chuckle softly against my hair.

"Really? Now?"

"You saying you don't want to?" I throw back at him, not sure if it's coming across as teasing or as if I'm snapping at him.

He buries his fingers in my dark hair and tugs my head back, tearing a gasp from my lips. He roughly kisses the front of my throat and lets his lips trail down my chest to my cleavage where he brings his free hand up to free my breast from its loose confines. I let myself sink back unto the pillow behind me as he finds his way on top of me, massaging my breast and tugging on the hardened nipple he finds there.

My arms disappear under the fabric covering his broad back, clawing at him and desperately pulling him closer to me. I can never get enough of him when we are like this.

I murmur his name and I know that he has heard me as he surges against me, letting his hard member slide across my private part, my panties already wet and my legs parting for him on their own accord only to wrap themselves around his hips.

He pants in my ear as he feels the heat between my legs press up against him and it does not take him very long to get rid of both his pants and underwear. He pulls my nightgown up and slides the fabric covering my wet pussy aside, letting himself slide over my clit a few times, as he watches my face contort in pleasure in the darkness.

"You know..." He presses out "This wasn't why I came over."

I look at his grey Seam eyes with my own ones, so very much like his, and nod softly. My lips part softly and I whisper a simple "I know" before he presses himself inside of me, filling me to the hilt and causing me to cry out in a loud moan of pleasure.

I arch my body up to meet his thrusts and almost see dark spots appear behind my eyelids every time he meets my movements. When he raises his upper body to pull off his shirt, I feel a tingling feeling in my abdomen upon seeing his bare chest covered in blonde hair with streaks of gray that trail down his stomach to reach his crotch. Like my own, his body is covered in scars, and it does not bother me in the least though I know that especially the large one across his stomach does bother _him_.

He places his fingers under my chin and tilts up my head, removing my gaze from his body. His eyes try their best to hide his insecurities, but I see them. Both ignoring it, our mouths clash together and I feel his tongue brush against my own as our moans become one.

While he is in control of the kiss, he suddenly starts thrusting again, and I tear my mouth from his once more to gasp for air. I feel the familiar tightening in my lower body telling me that an orgasm is not far away. And he knows as well, because he drives into me again and again, letting out those masculine sounds that sound almost animalistic as he gets me to the very edge of where I need to go.

With one hand, I reach down to flick my fingers across my swollen bud and when my orgasm hits seconds later, I cry out his name again and again. I bite down on his shoulder in order to try to silence myself, but it does not do much good.

As I come down from my high, Haymitch rolls us over so that he is underneath me and I am sitting across his lap. We are both shaking as I start moving my hips up and down, riding him like I know he likes, and it does not take long for him to grab my ass and move me against him on his own as his thrusts become harder and more irregular.

I bend down to kiss him once more and gasp into his mouth "Take me, Haymitch..."

With a few final movements, he groans out loud and I feel him empty himself inside of me and press our bodies as close together as it's humanly possible.

I collapse on top of him and remain there for a few minutes before I trust the muscles in my legs enough to get off and lie down next to my former mentor. I rest my head on his arm and let my eyes roam over his body and his face. He follows the path of my gaze until our eyes meet. For a few seconds we simply look at each other. When I break the silence with a small "You took my spot" he simply grins a bit before he lifts himself off the bed just enough to get a hold of the duvet and pull it over our bodies. He leaves his arm sprawled across my upper body, and I do not move it or shy away from his touch.

He falls asleep before I do, which does not surprise me considering the fact that he was drunk when he woke me from my nightmare. For a while, I consider what I am doing.

Whenever Haymitch is inside of me and I hear his grunts of pleasure because of what we are doing together, everything else goes away. Even if just for a little while. I am sure it cannot be considered healthy by anyone's standards, but I cannot bring myself to care. I have no one to tell me to act differently, and even if I had, I am not sure I remember the last time I cared enough to actually listen. When I feel him this close, my sleep is mostly free of nightmares, and everything is a little easier, which is all that matters.

Sometimes when I come to him or he comes to me in the middle of the night, I know that his eyes may be filled with tears because of Maysilee, his family or his former tributes. And he knows that the tears on my cheeks are because of Prim, Rue, Peeta or another person who I failed to save.  
This is the way that we let it be and we deal with it in the only way we know how. With sporadic moments of comfort in each other's arms.


End file.
